


Help

by GuardianofFun



Series: FrUK-ing Angst [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arthur is an alcoholic, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, francis is Tired of his shit, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9311309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuardianofFun/pseuds/GuardianofFun
Summary: Arthur's constant drinking is never a problem with friends, it's never a problem on an night out with the others. It's a problem when he's left alone and Francis has to pick up the pieces.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going off a headcanon and some ideas I've had for ages, my Arthur has always had problems with addiction so yeah, I wanted to play with that and see how Francis would react. Gods their relationship is so not good, Arthur is terrible. man...

As the sound of Arthur’s scream fades out, his hand balls around Francis’ shirt and he jerks him up level with his eyes, and Francis can see a flurry of emotions swirl through those grass green eyes.

"See, look what you _do_ to me!" He spits, and Francis balks, mouth flapping wildly as he goes to argue, but the tremor of fear that these arguments always bring makes it hard to get his words out right. Arthur’s rage is palpable, rolling off him in waves and Francis’ heart thuds in time with their crashing. For a second, Arthur shifts out of focus as tears well in his eyes. He blinks them away, refusing to let his wild emotions betray him. Sadness isn’t making him cry, no it’s his own anger too - at Arthur, at himself, at the glass bin full of empty bottles Arthur thinks he doesn’t notice, at the countless unattended group therapy sessions, at the whole world. 

Maybe the tears are useful though, when at the sight of his lovers trembling lip, Arthur lets out a choked gasp, his hand flying back to his own throat, fingers tensed and ready as if to rip at the pale skin it grabs at. The streak of red across his nose from the booze-induced rage now creeps up his neck and wraps around his cheeks in shame. Something has clicked in his foggy mind and he lets Francis’ shirt slip from his fingers. He stares at Francis for a moment, eyes wide and terrified.

"No, God no, not you. It isn’t- Francis it's not your fault- oh fuck!" There are tears in _his_ eyes now and Arthur pulls away from his crumpled boyfriend, grabbing at anything else that will keep his hands occupied. He ends up grasping the back of the dining chair like a lifeline. Francis can see his knuckles, white as a sheet as he grips the wood, and the charged silence is interrupted with the creaking protests of the wooden slats. 

Then, light patters, as tears hit the leather seat. Arthur sobs. 

"We can't do this Francis, it's not working - I'm b-b-bad for you!" And Francis wants to stand but his legs won't budge. There’s no sound in the kitchen other than both of their tears falling. Francis quiet compared to Arthur’s messy hiccups.

“...I know,” he says softly after a few minutes of silence. “You’re no good for anyone Arthur. No good for yourself either,” he says with a soft sigh. He pushes himself up slowly, old joints creaking as he moves. They’re both far too old for this nonsense, he thinks.

Arthur’s shoulders are shaking as he sobs, and Francis reaches for them. Arthur freezes for a second, then peers over his shoulder. A lump forms in Francis’ throat at the sight of him, but he remembers that Arthur is the one at fault here, that he can’t let Arthur wheedle this into long hugs on the sofa and a shared bottle of wine. His lips purse into a thin line, and Arthur lets out a shaky breath. Francis spins him around so they stand face to face, arms width apart. As Arthur sways on his feet somewhat, Francis grips him a little tighter to keep him upright. 

“This has to stop Arthur Kirkland. I’ve had it up to here with this. You need help Arthur, would you just admit it? Ask for it?” 

He releases the English nation’s shoulders, instead reaching down to tug Arthur’s shirt straight. Arthur sniffs, running a hand across his face, under his nose and then nods. His voice when he speaks again is thick.

“Francis… Please, help me.”

**Author's Note:**

> but at least Arthur knows he's a hot mess right? someone needs to help these guys wahhhh. This was thankfully followed by Francis dragging this sorry sods arse to an AA meeting and then he called Scotland who gave him a right telling off. I hope you thought this was interesting, any comments you have I'd like to hear, but yeah, thanks for reading!


End file.
